


The Fencing Team

by seashadows



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Kirk, age fifteen, meets seventeen-year-old Spock during the first fencing practice of the year. He'll never be the same again. </p><p>Written for <a href="http://deliciousny.livejournal.com/20301.html">this</a> art, by deliciousny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fencing Team

  
**From:** cpike@mayweather-acad.edu  
 **To:** STUDENT@mayweather-acad.edu [list]   
**Subject:** Attention students – options for this year   
  
_Hi, everyone,  
  
As you all know, classes start in three days. I’m excited to see your enthusiastic faces in my class again, and it’s been nice to see all of you settling in for another great school year.   
  
Principal Archer is on a retreat at the moment, and unfortunately can’t deliver the news himself, so the responsibility falls to me: there’s a day left before the class drop/add period ends, so listen up. A new option has come up for the 2248-2249 school year. Anyone who signs up for and participates in a school sport will be exempt from their physical education requirement.   
  
Thank you for your time, and I look forward to seeing everyone around campus. I especially look forward to seeing the juniors in English class; remember, when we say a farewell to arms, it means no tank tops!   
  
Captain Pike_   
  
“Hey, Nyota!” Jim shouted, jogging up to his friend and waving a PADD. “Nyota! Check it out!” The late-August grass was yielding and soft under his sandal-clad feet as he reached the shade of a wide beech tree and plopped down under it. “Guess what?”   
  
Nyota Uhura rolled her eyes and put her own PADD down. “What, _Kirk?_ What’s so important that I can’t finish my book?” She wasn’t really angry; he could tell by the way her eyes crinkled up at the corners, and she only called him ‘Kirk’ when she was teasing. When she was seriously angry, she called him ‘James.’   
  
“Aw, c’mon.” Jim stretched his legs out over the soft grass and leaned back against the hard, smooth bark, his eyes closing in pleasure. “Now you pissed me off. I might not tell you my news after all.”   
  
“Sure.” Something rubbed against the top of his head, and he grinned without opening his eyes. “Is it just me, or did your hair get spikier over the summer?”   
  
“Could be just you. Dunno.” He shrugged. “I _did_ hang around outside a lot.” If you counted ‘making out with a lot of hot people by Mr. Mackey’s pond, gender-blind, possibly a little drunk on occasion’ as ‘hanging around outside a lot’, which Jim absolutely _did_. It was pretty awesome, too. “Also, if you fondle my hair, I’m gonna take it as an invitation.”   
  
As he expected, the hand left his head immediately. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot phaser, Jim.” They’d been friends since freshman year, when her parents’ diplomatic work transferred them to Federation HQ, but he still hadn’t made any headway on getting her interested in him, even though they were juniors now (well, Jim was supposed to be a sophomore, but he’d skipped a year). Oh, well.   
  
“Sure. Love you, too.” Jim opened his eyes and yawned – the summer sun really did a number on his circadian rhythms. “Anyway, you wanna hear my news?”   
  
“ _Yes_ , Jim.” Nyota rolled her eyes. “Do tell.”   
  
“Well, you know the phys-ed requirement?” he said, and took what was probably a disgusting amount of pleasure in seeing the face she made. “What? You don’t like Mr. Giotto?”   
  
“Who does?” She stuck her tongue out. “The man’s a fucking slave driver.”   
  
“Right!” Good thing he didn’t need to explain anything to her; if he’d had to actually say how horrible Giotto was, his head would probably explode. Or _im_ plode, considering the five zillion words that would have to flow out of his mouth to describe the gym teacher. “So Pike just sent out this mass e-mail, and apparently, if you join a school athletic club, you can get out of the phys-ed requirement.”   
  
“No shit!” Nyota’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking. Aren’t you?” He shook his head. “No _way_.” She tapped her PADD a few times, probably opening up her e-mail (she _never_ fucking believed him the first time he told her something; still, he probably couldn’t blame her, not after the time he said the Linguistics Club was meeting in the library and she found him in the Fiction A-E section, wearing only his boxers, instead). “ _Zztann!_ ”   
  
“What?” Yup, she had to have found the e-mail. She only swore in Andorian when she was either really surprised or really pissed, and Jim doubted it was the latter. “Am I right?”   
  
She looked up and rolled her eyes at him, a signal that all was right in the world of the Mayweather Academy campus. “Yeah, Jim, you’re right. Don’t start peacocking.”   
  
It was weird, but whenever she said that, Jim half-expected feathers to _actually_ start growing out of his ass. Maybe it was the persuasive power of her voice or something; he’d _definitely_ let her talk dirty to him any day, if she was interested. “I’m not peacocking. I’m just happy.”   
  
“Yeah? ‘Just happy’, huh?” She glanced down at his crotch - _yes_ , he was a little aroused right now; it wasn’t a crime – and cracked half a smile.   
  
“Hey!” Jim glared at her, crossing his legs. “If you’re not interested in _doing_ anything with it, you’re not allowed to tease me about it, okay?” Because if she did, he’d definitely have a boner _most_ of the time, instead of just _some_. She kind of had that effect on him. “My dick doesn’t deserve to have its affections played with.”   
  
Nyota gave him the kind of look that his mom called ‘the phaser.’ “I’m not even going to answer that,” she said. “You’ll just get ideas.”   
  
“Yeah, I probably will.” No one could say that Jim Kirk wasn’t honest when he needed to be. Still, the banter about whether or not he actually wanted to make a move was getting kind of boring; it was probably time to change the subject. “So, are you gonna go for the new curriculum change? Do a sport?”   
  
“I might go out for track,” she said, and stretched out, lying down on the grass. Against the bright green, she looked like an ornament against a felt backdrop; even if he _was_ attracted to her, Jim could definitely admire her aesthetically, too. “I like running. How about you?”   
  
“Fencing team.”   
  
“ _Fencing?_ ” she asked. “Since when do you fence?”   
  
He lay down next to her, shivering as the grass tickled his exposed arms and legs. If he had to wear the stupid Mayweather uniform during the school day, at least he could wear shorts in his free time. “I fenced when I was a kid. Didn’t I tell you?” He’d stopped when he was thirteen for reasons he preferred not to think about, but he figured his body couldn’t have forgotten _everything_.   
  
“No, you didn’t,” she said as she propped herself up on one elbow. “That’s interesting.”   
  
“Yup.” He rolled over a little, just to feel more of the grass against his calves. It felt so cool and nice, a good complement to the summer heat. “Did you know there are three kinds of swords? In European traditional fencing, I mean. I think that’s the kind the team does here.”   
  
“No,” Nyota said. “What are the differences?”   
  
She didn’t _sound_ bored, but Jim figured a short description would probably be better. “There’s the foil, the epee, and the saber – most people specialize in one. The foil’s a little like a starter sword, but you can use it in competitions, too, and the rules are pretty strict. The epee has a bigger hand guard and fewer rules, and the saber’s pretty regulated, because you can slash from the side with it and it takes a lot of practice.”   
  
“That sounds a little dangerous,” she remarked, “Fun, though. Did you specialize when you were a kid?”   
  
“Kinda. I learned a little of all three, but I was okay with the epee when I stopped. My teacher wanted me to compete.” She was a tall Russian woman with a wicked-fast lunge, and he still considered her his first real crush. _Damn_ …some of the thirteen-year-old dreams he’d had about Katya made him blush. “You sure you don’t want to join? Teams always need female fencers.”   
  
“No, thanks.” The grass under him pulled a little as Nyota shifted. “I’d rather run than be run _through_.”   
  
“Oh, god,” Jim groaned, hitting his forehead with one palm. “Worst pun ever, Nyota. I’d hang out with Captain Pike if I wanted to hear people fuck around with words.”   
  
“Okay, now _that_ stings.” Her hand made contact with his head again, slapping instead of petting this time. “You know who you should _really_ talk to for word-fuckery? Spock.”   
  
“Huh?” Jim frowned. “Who’s Spock?”   
  
“Wait, _what?_ ” Nyota sat up and stared down at him, her eyes wide. “You don’t know who Spock is? He transferred here last semester!”   
  
“And I was busy with that research project last semester, _Nyota_. I was kind of living under a rock.” Jim rolled his eyes. “What’s so great about Spock?”   
  
“You seriously don’t know? Wow.” She whistled. “I’d have thought you’d be all over this. He’s a _Vulcan_.”   
  
“ _Vulcan?_ Are you fucking serious? _Ow!_ ” Jim yelped and spasmed as his head made contact with the base of the beech tree. “Shit, Nyota, _warn_ me before you drop something like that.” He sat up, albeit a little dizzily, and rubbed his sore head. “That’s gonna leave a bruise.”   
  
“Want me to kiss it better?” Nyota asked, smiling.   
  
“No. You’d bite me.” Jim shook his head, and regretted it when the movement ignited a flare of pain in his head. “I don’t know how anyone can bite a forehead, but you’d figure it out.”   
  
“Like I’d bite your head. _Blechhh._ ” She stuck her tongue out at him. “I doubt you wash your hair.”   
  
“I washed it last night, for your information. The tree probably got all kinds of shit in it, though.” He ran a hand over the spikes he’d taken such care to “nonchalantly” gel in. “Aw, damn. There’s all kinds of gross crap in there now.” It would take forever to pick the dirt out. “Do you think Vulcans care if you can’t get the dirt out of your hair?”   
  
“God, you and your one-track mind.” Nyota flicked his neck with her thumb and forefinger. “If you must know, I _did_ get some vibes from him when I saw him last semester. Think he might be interested in humanoids of the _male_ persuasion.” She wiggled an eyebrow at him.   
  
Jim let out a noisy, skeptical spit-sigh through his teeth. “No way did you get that in the hallways.”   
  
“No reason he isn’t interested in humanoids of the female persuasion, too. I just thought he seemed…you know, _amenable_ to amorous contact with males. If you know what I mean.”   
  
_If you know what I mean?_ What kind of people had she been hearing? No matter what, it was pretty damn funny. “Right, right,” Jim managed through a sudden fit of man-giggles. “I know _what you mean_. Since when do you phrase your sentences like that?”   
  
“It’s my Vulcan imitation. What do you think?” She raised her eyebrow again and, coupled with the suddenly flat tone of her voice, it made Jim start laughing all over again. “What’s so funny?”   
  
Jim gasped in a few gulps of air and stretched out again, rolling over onto his stomach. “Your Vulcan imitation,” he said after a moment or two. “Almost made me piss myself.”   
  
“Yeah. I sort of noticed that, Jim.” She gave him a _look_ that probably would have been directed at his pants if he hadn’t been lying on top of the relevant areas. “Spock might be in a few of your classes, if he’s as smart as I think he is. You should keep an eye out for him. I think he’s actually the Vulcan ambassador’s kid.”   
  
“I think I will. Thanks, Nyota.” Jim lolled his head to the side and lazily cracked his neck. “So are you guys doing that school-year food spectacular this year?” Nyota’s parents lived only twenty minutes away, and she commuted; as a result, he’d been exposed to some truly awesome Kenyan food over the past two years.   
  
“Tomorrow night,” she said. “You’re invited, as usual.”   
  
“Sweet. Do you think your mom will make _maandazi_ if I ask really nicely?”   
  
Nyota snorted. “Come over early and make the puppy-dog eyes at her before she cooks. I bet she will.”   
  
He so would.   
  


~

  
  
“Okay, everyone, welcome to the Mayweather Academy Fencing Club’s first meeting of the school year!” Hikaru Sulu clapped his hands together and looked around from his position on a box; the words _Tetherball Equipment_ were stamped on the side. “If you’re a returning member, welcome back. I’m your captain, Hikaru Sulu, and I’m a junior this year.”   
  
There was a collective murmur from the assembled students. Jim, for his part, was impressed; Sulu was never this assertive in class, even when he was answering questions. Looked like fencing did a shit-ton of good for his leadership skills; good for him. “All right!” Hikaru continued. “Three laps around the gym to warm up, everyone, then pair up and practice your footwork. The practice swords and equipment are over by the water fountain if you want them.”   
  
“Sweet,” Jim muttered to no one in particular, and got up from his position on the gym floor, going around for his first lap. It was too damn hot with everyone around, and at least the running created enough of a breeze to keep him from feeling too much of his own sweat.   
  
On his second (or maybe third – yeah, third) go-round, one of his flailing arms smacked against something hard. “Sorry,” he said to whoever he’d hit. “Won’t happen again.”   
  
“It is of no consequence,” said whoever. Jim frowned – he hadn’t heard that voice before, and that seemed weird. It was _definitely_ a guy; he could tell by the baritone. Well, whatever. After he finished this lap and lost some momentum, he’d turn around and see who the guy was.   
  
Mystery Student was still running when Jim finished, so he turned around for a look. As it turned out, the guy was a freaking _Vulcan_ , and Jim definitely needed to give Nyota a piece of his mind, because how was he supposed to know that the Vulcan was going to be on the fencing team with him? He was a _really_ hot Vulcan, too – all bowl cut and big dark eyes, and lean muscles that flexed whenever his feet hit the ground.   
  
If Nyota was wrong and this guy – Spock, it had to be, because Vulcans probably didn’t deign to attend _human_ schools - _wasn’t_ into guys, Jim was going to spontaneously combust. Or come in his pants, in a sad way (could orgasms be sad? He’d find a way to have a sad, unsatisfying orgasm in his pants, because ‘Jim Kirk’ meant nothing if not ‘imaginative genius’).   
  
Spock finished his laps and jogged up beside him; Jim’s dick woke up a little and throbbed in his pants happily. “Are you James Tiberius Kirk?” he asked.   
  
It took a minute or so for Jim to gather enough brain cells together to answer. Up close, Spock was even hotter than he was from a distance; his cheeks were flushed just slightly green (green blood, right – biology classes came in handy sometimes) and his eyes were this gorgeous color, rich brown, and surrounded by incredibly long eyelashes. “Yeah,” he finally said. “But don’t use my middle name. I hate it.”   
  
As soon as the words left his mouth, he was inwardly berating himself for them. _Way to go, James_ Tiberius _Kirk,_ he thought. _Nice first impression, complaining about yourself like a kid._ Spock probably thought he was immature now. “Sorry,” he added. “My brain’s kind of fried. It’s hot in here.”   
  
Spock nodded. “The ambient temperature in this gymnasium is far more suited to Vulcans than to humans,” he said, “due to the number of students herein.”   
  
“So that means you’re comfortable?”   
  
“Yes.” Another nod. “Which type of sword do you prefer?”   
  
It took a second for Jim to realize that Spock wasn’t actually trying to make an innuendo. “The epee,” he said. “You?”   
  
“I am most proficient with the saber,” Spock replied. One eyebrow rose a bit. “I believed you to prefer said sword as well.”   
  
“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t make assumptions.” Still, the fact that Spock had had _ideas_ about him and his swordplay was kind of flattering. “Being an epee fencer lets you be a little more imaginative, but it’s been a few years since I’ve fenced. I might be wrong.”   
  
“You are correct. However, I prefer the regulations of the saber.”   
  
People were starting to pass by them, having finished their laps, and it was getting a little harder to hear Spock now. “You want to practice together?” Jim asked, raising his voice so as to be heard above the general murmur. “I can get a saber if you want. Did you bring any equipment?”   
  
“I did,” Spock said. “Perhaps our practice would be more effective if we were to use foils.”   
  
“Probably. I think you’re more experienced than I am.” Jim didn’t have any gear himself, but he could grab some from the general bag – even if it was gross and sweaty, it would be safer than fencing with a Vulcan _without_ protection. Ha, _protection_. Gross and sweaty. It sounded (well, in his head) like he was talking about having sex with Spock.   
  
Yum.   
  
Jerking himself out of that train of thought with some difficulty, Jim smiled and stretched one cramping arm over his head. “Gimme five minutes and I’ll get suited up,” he said. “You want to get in your gear while I do that? We can spar over by the basketball hoops.”   
  
“A sound suggestion,” Spock said, and turned around, displaying a gorgeous tight ass, as he went to get his equipment. Jim allowed himself a few seconds of ogling, then headed over to the water fountain to grab the necessaries.   
  
The foils were hidden under a lot of crap – fuck, didn’t Sulu know anything about how to organize a gym bag? “Jeez,” Jim muttered, and crouched down, his hands rifling through a bunch of haphazardly-folded jackets. “Gotcha!” There was only one medium-sized one, and it had pit stains, but it was better than nothing.   
  
“Fencing with Spock?”   
  
“What? Ow!” Jim’s head hit the bottom of the water fountain with a hollow, metallic _thump_. “Guh. Sulu, don’t surprise me.”   
  
“Sure.” Sulu knelt next to him, _his_ head comfortably out of striking range of the water fountain, and grabbed a foil out of the bag. “Be careful. I’ve heard Spock’s got a pretty wicked strike.”   
  
“Yeah, and where’d you hear that? I just bet the Vulcan ambassador talks about it.” Jim rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to scare me.”   
  
“Just trying to warn you, buddy.” Sulu clapped him on the back and stood up. “Easy on the swords. They’re school property.”   
  
“Easy on the sparring partners,” Jim retorted. “They’re probably scared shitless of your awesome sword skills.”   
  
“Quit trying to flatter me. I know you just jumped on the bandwagon.”   
  
“Sure, and you wouldn’t have done the same thing?” Jim rolled his eyes. “Giotto’s a nightmare.” He picked up a mask from the pile that looked like it might fit him.   
  
“Don’t I know it,” Sulu said, and idly slapped the sword across his palm. “Training a new kid today. Absolutely no fencing experience, but he keeps saying that it was invented in _Russia_. Can you believe it?”   
  
“Who’s that? The skinny baby with the zit face – Chekov, right?” The kid looked about twelve, and unfortunately for Jim, had moved into the room _right next to his_. So much for bringing anyone back to the ol’ dorm room for loud naked time or something; he didn’t exactly want to be responsible for traumatizing some prepubescent stick.   
  
Well, maybe he was already traumatized. After all, if he was at Mayweather, Chekov had to be smart; Jim would see about that, come class time tomorrow. Freshmen tended to be loud about their schedules when they ate lunch in the commons.   
  
“Fuck off. He’s not a baby.” Sulu scowled at him. “Keep talking like that and Archer’s gonna make you haul ass into his office for hazing people.”   
  
“Relax, No-Cal, I’m not _hazing him_ ,” Jim said. Lesson of the day: Sulu took an unusual interest in new fencers’ well-being. Weirdo. “I gotta go. Spock’s waiting.”   
  
“Fine. Have fun using your _swords_ , jackass.”   
  
“Don’t call me a jackass, jackass.” Jim thumped him lightly on the back. “All right. Have fun with the toddler.”   
  
“Shut up!” Sulu called after him as he turned to go. Jim smirked and pulled the jacket on over his T-shirt, easing the mask down over his head when that was finished.   
  
“Hey, Spock?” he said, and looked around. “You here?”   
  
“Indeed.” Spock appeared in front of him all of a sudden, like some kind of ghost or a fucking cat or something. He was already in his gear, complete with pristine white leggings that (oh, fucking _god_ , hello, boner) showed off the outline of his legs and groin pretty nicely. “Are you ready to fence?”   
  
“Yeah, just a second. Can you zip me up?” Jim turned around and bent his head, presenting the back of his neck. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get it myself.”   
  
“Certainly.” Jim could hear, if not see, Spock move a little closer; his fingers were steady as they pulled the zipper up to the top, and hot when they inadvertently touched the skin of his neck. “I apologize.”   
  
“What for?” Jim asked, his voice a little dazed even to his ears. Those fingers were _so warm_. Would Spock be that warm all over? “You just touched my neck. Not like you punched me.”   
  
“I feel no inclination to strike you.” Spock stepped away, and Jim turned to face him; the Vulcan’s cheeks were green for some strange reason. “Shall we commence?”   
  
“Yeah.” Irritation stabbed at the back of his neck, where Spock had touched him. What the hell was it with Spock and the stupid questions? Were all Vulcans like this? “Enough with the formalities, okay? I’m not gonna break.” He testily adjusted the mask. “Let’s go.”   
  
“Very well.” At least Spock wasn’t inclined to complain.   
  
They walked to a spot under the gym’s basketball hoop and moved a few meters apart. “Sword check,” Jim said, and held out his foil. Spock touched it with the tip of his…well, with the side of the tip of his. They were a little too close together. “I’ll move away a little, okay?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
“Fine.” Why did Spock have to answer his fucking _rhetorical questions?_ Jim rolled his eyes and moved a few steps back, touching the tips of their swords together again. “Right. You or me?”   
  
“You may commence,” Spock answered. His voice was a little muffled by the distance and by both of their masks. He saluted, and Jim returned the gesture.   
  
“En garde.” He nodded and sized Spock up, still in the starting position. Spock was probably used to strict fencers…maybe the kinds of people who lunged first and then thrust, parried, and acted stereotypical. Rusty or not, even he knew how to be a little more unexpected than that.   
  
But how could he be unexpected around a Vulcan? Even if Spock had fenced using more traditional methods, maybe he knew the tricks. Jim drew his arm back a little and stepped slightly to the left, watching Spock’s head move slightly to track him.   
  
Okay, so Spock telegraphed. He could use that. Jim felt the corner of his mouth quirk up slightly in a half-smile as he feinted off to the left, then stepped forward and struck at Spock’s lower abdomen.   
  
Spock blocked him, but just barely. “Your movements are not traditional,” he remarked, lunging forward.  
  
Jim blocked him back. “Yeah, I’m what they call _unexpected_.” He returned the lunge, this time aiming for Spock’s ribcage. Another block, and then the tip of Spock’s sword darted under Jim’s upraised arm and stabbed him lightly in the armpit.   
  
“Hey!” Jim protested, rubbing his ribs. “Use the _foil_ guidelines.”   
  
“The underarm is within the foil guidelines, Mr. Kirk.” Spock came at him again, and this time, Jim was ready; he blocked him again and extended his sword arm. Katya had said that one of the best things you could do as a fencer was learn how to strike without lunging, and it worked. The tip of his sword touched Spock’s chest.   
  
“Hit!” he shouted, grinning.   
  
“You need not act inordinately pleased with yourself,” Spock said. Jim leaned off to the side to avoid his sword. “As humans say, that was a ‘lucky shot.’”   
  
God, Jim could just _hear_ the quotation marks in his voice, and oh, _hello_ \- were those Spock’s biceps, straining against his jacket sleeves? Jim’s dick had been fairly quiet after he got his equipment on, but now it made its opinion known again. Dammit.   
  
While he was distracted, Spock got in another good shot, this time at his stomach. “’Hit’, as you say, Mr. Kirk.”   
  
“Don’t call me Mr. Kirk. My name’s Jim,” Jim called back. The blood was pounding in his ears, both from the proximity to Spock and from the exertion; his feet barely stayed in the same place for more than a few seconds at a time. “Mr. Kirk is… _was_ my father.” Fuck, why did he have to go and say that? Now he was turned on _and_ he felt guilty. George Kirk probably wouldn’t appreciate his person being appropriated like that.   
  
“Very well, Jim.” Spock came at him with the sword again (hot…oh, great, and now his state of arousal was probably going to mess with his fencing skills), but Jim blocked it and pushed Spock’s sword back, jabbing underneath to land a hit on Spock’s hip.   
  
“Hit!” he said again.   
  
“Again, _Jim_ , you need not say the word whenever you achieve a hit.” Spock sounded a little annoyed, but _just_ a little. If Jim hadn’t been listening for emotion, he might not have heard it, but he _did_ hear it. Score.   
  
“Maybe not, but I like saying it.” He lunged again, a little sloppier than last time, and this time Spock caught his thrust and blocked it; he came forward with a piece of footwork that dropped Jim’s jaw. “Damn. How long’ve you fenced?”   
  
“Approximately eight point six two standard years,” Spock answered. “The husband of the Terran ambassador to Vulcan is an accomplished fencer, and offered to act as my instructor when I showed interest in it.” He parried, feinted to the right, and struck again, this time catching Jim on the shoulder. “Hit.”   
  
“You’re using my terminology!” Jim accused him, smiling. Looked like even the most _logical_ beings could fall prey to illogic sometimes. “I studied for about five years when I was younger, but _jeez_. Your instructor must’ve been pretty good.”   
  
Spock nodded; he was starting to breathe hard, as was Jim. Maybe talking while they fenced wasn’t the best idea, but it was pretty interesting. “My stamina is not unlimited,” he said, as though reading Jim’s thoughts (freaky).   
  
“You wanna find different partners soon?” Jim lunged forward and started a set of thrusts that took up a few minutes, so Spock didn’t answer immediately.   
  
“No,” he finally said. “You are an adequate partner.”   
  
“Adequate, huh?” Jim shook his head and wrinkled his nose as a line of sweat ran down his cheek. “Gross. Can we stop? I gotta take this off.”   
  
“Yes,” Spock said, lowering his sword.   
  
Jim did the same, pulled the mask off his head, and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Ew,” he groaned. “Worst hat hair ever.” He glanced over at Spock and let out another noise, this one closer to a whine than a groan. “Dude! Yours isn’t even messed up. How’s that fair?”   
  
“I believe genetics are a larger factor than fairness,” Spock said, and patted his hair. “On the contrary to your previous statement, your own hair is not the ‘worst hat hair ever.’”   
  
“Thanks.” Jim rolled his eyes and blew out a mouthful of air. “So, yeah. What do you say we call it a tie?”   
  
“That seems logical.” Spock took a few steps closer to him, his expression a little unsettled – as though he was unsure about something. “Will you undo the zipper of my jacket? Removal tends to be difficult.”   
  
Now _that_ was unexpected. Maybe living on Earth for a few months had taught Spock some human illogic after all. “Um…sure. Turn around.” Spock did, and for a second or five, Jim could only gape at the green flush to the back of his neck. Vulcans could get hot, apparently. _Wish he’d get hot for me,_ he found himself thinking, and fought the urge to give his dick a good bitch-slap.   
  
“Jim?” Spock asked. Right…he’d been standing there without doing anything for a few seconds too long.   
  
“Yeah, sorry,” he said hurriedly, and unzipped Spock’s jacket, unashamedly staring as Spock shrugged out of it. “You hot?” And there he went again with the innuendo. Spock was definitely _hot_ , all right, in both ways.   
  
“Indeed.” Was it his imagination, or was Spock’s voice a little unsteady? His long-sleeved, dark-blue button-down was marred with the slightest of pit stains, so it might have just been the heat. Fencing jackets could do that to anyone, never mind someone unused to Earth’s atmosphere. “Do you wish for me to unzip your jacket?”   
  
“Huh? Sure.” Jim turned around, his stomach quivering in anticipation of those hot fingers on his neck again. To his disappointment, Spock didn’t actually touch him this time, but he took a little longer unzipping the jacket than Jim thought was actually warranted.   
  
_Butterflies_ in his stomach, this time. Maybe Nyota was right.   
  
As he eased his arms out of the jacket, Spock spoke again. “Jim?”   
  
“Yeah.” He slung the garment over his arm, idly twirling his foil in one hand. “What’s up?”   
  
“You asked me if I am overheated. Do you suffer from the same state?”   
  
“Kind of.” He narrowly resisted lifting up his arm to smell his armpit; his deodorant was new, after all, and it would be kind of gross to do that in front of a Vulcan. “I think I need a shower.”   
  
“I detect no unpleasant odor about you.”   
  
“Um. Thanks?” He could feel heat rush to his cheeks at the…well, it was probably a semi-compliment. “You don’t smell bad, either, I don’t think. Need to go sit in the air-conditioning or something?”   
  
“Perhaps. You make a logical suggestion,” Spock said. “In which dormitory do you reside?”   
  
“I’m in Cole. You?”   
  
“I reside in Sato Dormitory.” Okay, so Spock apparently had this compulsive need to dress up even the simplest of sentences. Had to be a Vulcan thing, because Nyota was a diplomat’s kid, too, and she _definitely_ didn’t talk like that.   
  
“Sato? That’s right by here, right?” Jim said. Lucky Spock, not having to walk farther than was warranted in the heat.   
  
“Indeed.” Spock paused, his lips slightly parted like he was dying to say something difficult. “Jim, would you care to accompany me to my dormitory? I will provide cold beverages.”   
  
Cold _beverages?_ Now Spock was seriously starting to sound like Grandpa James. “Sure,” Jim said through a growing smile. Oh…maybe he’d get lucky or something. _Shut up_ , he told his stubborn subconscious. “If it’s not gonna be any trouble.”   
  
“It will not be any trouble. Do you enjoy carbonated beverages?”   
  
“Sure. Who doesn’t?” Wait, why did he still have a jacket over his arm. “Hold on a second, okay? I gotta put this stuff back.”   
  
Spock nodded, and Jim turned around to jog back over to the water fountain. “Sulu!” he called out. “Spock and I are leaving.”  
  
Sulu, who was taking a drink from the fountain, turned around and wiped his mouth. “Practice isn’t over,” he said, frowning.   
  
“I know. But it turns out he has a wicked sword arm, so we got super-tired and we’re gonna go drink a lot of sugar.” It wasn’t as though that was a _lie_ …well, it would only be less than a whole truth if Jim had anything to say about the outcome. “When’s the next practice? I’ll be here.”   
  
“Monday. Tomorrow.” Sulu crossed his arms, placing the tip of his sword dangerously close to his left foot. “Five PM. You sure you’ll be able to make it?”   
  
“I’ll be there,” Jim repeated. “I’m serious about this, okay?”   
  
“Fine,” Sulu said. “Prove it by showing up again. This team _competes_ , Kirk.”   
  
“Fine. Okay, so the phys ed requirement got me interested, but I don’t drop out of shit.” That was part of the reason, honestly, that he didn’t _join_ stuff…he’d have to stick it out until the end.   
  
_Like Tarsus._   
  
“Jim?”   
  
“Huh?” Why was Spock calling to him? Jim’s eyes snapped open and he spun around to look at his sparring partner, who had packed his gear up again and was currently lifting a duffel bag. “Sorry. I’ll be right over, okay?”   
  
“Very well.” Spock hefted the bag and slung the strap over one broad shoulder. “I will wait for you.”   
  
“Okay.” Jim turned back to Sulu and rubbed the back of his neck with one palm. “Look, I have to go. I’ll be here tomorrow, I _promise_.” He hurriedly stashed his sword and jacket in the bag and held his right hand out. “Promise.”   
  
“Okay.” Sulu’s frown eased a little as he shook Jim’s hand. “It’s your first practice – I guess you can get tired. Get outta here.” He flashed a bit of a smile.   
  
“Thanks.” Jim pumped his hand a few times and then let go, jogging back over to Spock. “Hey, sorry that took so long. Ready to go?”   
  
“Yes.” Spock adjusted the bag and strode toward the door; Jim followed him, taking in an eager breath of grass-scented air once they were out the door. Thank whatever deity for allergy hypos, or else he couldn’t have done that without getting symptoms that would _seriously_ embarrass him in front of Spock.   
  
And he _definitely_ wanted to impress Spock.   
  
They’d reached Sato Dorm within what felt like a few strides, and the door slid open when Spock swiped his student ID in front of it. “I reside in a single room on the second floor,” he said.   
  
“You didn’t really need to get that specific,” Jim replied. Spock was _cute_ when he was being overspecific; it made his brows furrow. “Okay. So you have sodas up there?”   
  
“Yes,” Spock said for what seemed like the five zillionth time in maybe half an hour, and led Jim over to a door that opened onto a flight of stairs. “Follow me, please.”   
  
Jim followed him, and stared at his ass the entire way. Tiny, firm…holy _shit_ , did all Vulcans have this kind of build? He definitely needed to visit Vulcan sometime, if that was the case. There had to be at least one Vulcan who didn’t think sex with a human was illogical.   
  
Hell, maybe it would even be this one.   
  
The stairs ended (much to Jim’s disappointment, because seriously, _that ass_ ) in a hallway very much like Jim’s hall in Cole, low-ceilinged and utilitarian. Spock walked a few doors down and swiped his keycard in front of another door, then turned to Jim and raised an eyebrow. “Do you not wish to accompany me inside?”   
  
“Sure, smartass,” Jim said, then bit his lip. “Shit. Sorry. Just a human expression.” He walked to the door and followed Spock through it. “Hey, nice place.”   
  
So he kind of meant it ironically, because the room was pretty much the same shape and size as every other single room at Mayweather, but Spock _had_ decorated it pretty nicely. Minimalist, with dark covers on the bed and a couple pictures of some kind of calligraphy Jim didn’t recognize. He’d have to study Vulcan and find out what the symbols meant someday.   
  
“Thank you,” Spock replied, raising an eyebrow. “Do you enjoy the ‘Coke’ brand of soda?”   
  
God, even Spock’s use of _brand names_ sounded disdainful. “That’s fine. Do you have regular, or just diet?”   
  
“I have original Coke,” Spock said, and punched something into a number pad on the wall. A panel slid open, and he reached inside, taking out a bottle of soda and handing it to Jim.   
  
“Thanks.” Jim popped the top and drank deeply; he hadn’t really known he was so thirsty until he tasted the soda. It was cold and fizzy and absolutely _delicious_ , and…well, it was weird, but it seemed to taste better in here.   
  
Spock was watching him when he finally surfaced again. “You are thirsty,” he said.   
  
“Well, duh.” Jim wiped his mouth on his hand. “We just did a _brutal_ sparring session. Of course I’m thirsty. Aren’t you?” Maybe Vulcans didn’t need as much water as humans did.   
  
“I am not thirsty.” Spock shook his head. “Jim, may I ask an intrusive question?”   
  
“Um…okay?” Jim felt what seemed like an entire colony of butterflies suddenly metamorphose into being in his stomach. “Go ahead.”   
  
Spock took in an audible breath. “Are you attracted to males?”   
  
So it wasn’t _quite_ as ‘intrusive’ as Jim had thought (or hoped, maybe?) it would be. Still, Spock asking _anything_ personal was kind of a triumph, in his opinion. “Yeah,” he said. “Males and females both.” What was Spock leading up to? Had he asked him up here just to fire off a bunch of questions about human sexuality? What a disappointment. “Why?”   
  
Spock paused. “Vulcans possess the ability to experience the emotions of others through touch.”   
  
That was kind of unexpected. Jim blinked. “That’s cool.”   
  
“Indeed. Jim, when you zipped my fencing jacket, the skin of your fingers was in contact with the skin of my neck, and vice versa when I assisted you.”   
  
Vulcans weren’t the only ones who could make logical deductions, and Jim’s train of thought was leading him to a fucking _embarrassing_ place. “I…um, I think I see what you’re driving at,” he said. “So you heard my thoughts, and you were wondering…” Oh, god, Spock probably thought he was a total pervert. Not that he _wasn’t_ a little pervy, but giving the wrong impression to a Vulcan student couldn’t be good for interplanetary relations, much less his chances of getting some.   
  
_Shut up, Jim,_ he told himself, and concentrated on getting the blush in his cheeks to level off a little – which, considering his skin tone, was pretty damn near impossible.   
  
“I was not offended,” Spock said. “On the contrary, your thoughts regarding my body were flattering.”   
  
Okay, good, so no interspecies relations breakdown there, but still. “I’ll try to shut my brain up if we spar again. Sorry.”   
  
Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “Will you sit, Jim?” He indicated the edge of his pristine bed.   
  
“Um.” Something in Jim’s brain short-circuited; it was probably whatever made his legs work, because they abruptly turned to jelly and made him plunk down on Spock’s bed. Stupid brain. “So what do you want to say?”   
  
“I am attracted to males as well.” Spock’s cheeks went adorably green. “More specifically, I am…physically attracted to you.”   
  
“Physically? As opposed to what?” Jim knew _those_ questions were kind of asinine (his favorite word), but they were surprised out of him. “Emotionally?” He was _interested_ in Spock, yeah, but did Spock think he was a prostitute or something? His boner wilted a little at the thought.   
  
“I am not well enough acquainted with you to make a decision regarding emotional attraction,” Spock said. He sat down neatly on the edge of the bed, one hand only inches away from Jim’s. “May I inquire as to the reason you did not approach me last semester?”   
  
“I kind of didn’t know you existed,” Jim protested. “Huge research project. I mean, I would’ve tried to be friends and stuff, but I was busy.”   
  
“I see.” Even though he was looking at the floor, Jim could _feel_ Spock looking at him. “Do you wish to engage in sexual activities?”   
  
“ _What?_ ” Jim’s head jerked up in shock. Was Spock _high_ or something? “Are you for real?”   
  
“I assure you that I am indeed ‘real’,” Spock said. “Your physical attributes and athletic capabilities arouse me physically. Do you wish to engage in sexual activities?” he repeated.   
  
“Okay, so you’re ignoring the fact I have a four-point?” Jim shot back. Spock had _completely_ killed his boner now. “Didn’t you hear me say ‘research project’? I’m not just some stupid human, Spock. You want to have sex with me? Have sex with _all_ of me, not just my dick.”   
  
Fucking Vulcans. They probably all thought humans were idiotic sex machines or something. Spock clearly knew who he was – hell, he’d _asked_ if Jim was Jim. And he was still a goddamn _virgin_ who, yeah, was physically attracted to Spock himself, but he would have thought Vulcans were _at least_ considerate enough not to outright say that their partners were whores.   
  
Jim stood up, ready to leave Spock’s room, when a hand hesitantly touched his wrist.   
  
“Jim.” Spock’s voice was soft and hesitant, enough to make Jim sit back down. “I ask that you attempt not to misunderstand my intentions. I do wish to engage in sexual contact with your entire person, as much as such an action is physically possible. I do not desire to misuse your body for my own physical pleasure.”   
  
“Shit,” Jim said, for lack of anything better popping into his brain. “I mean, I wanted to do stuff with you, too, but…for real?”   
  
“Indeed.” Spock’s hand hadn’t left Jim’s wrist, and now it tightened slightly. “I am fully appreciative of both your physical and academic merits.”  
  
“I…um, okay?” Jim could feel blood flooding his face to turn it bright red. Stupid pale skin. And stupid _dick_ , for getting hard from a full-body flush. “So, um. Do you wanna do something, or are you gonna let go of me?”   
  
“Are the two events mutually exclusive?” Spock let go of Jim’s wrist and tilted his head slightly, like he was confused.   
  
“Never mind.” Someone was going to have to introduce Spock to idiomatic language. Hell, maybe Jim would do it himself. “You ever done anything before? You know, sexually?”   
  
“Indeed.” Spock nodded. “I conducted mild sexual experiments with a member of my age group on Vulcan, and a university student introduced me to the Terran art of labial contact two point five months after my arrival on Earth.”   
  
Whoever this university student was, Jim was suddenly jealous of him or her. Or _them_ \- whatever, he wouldn’t rule out ungendered beings. “So you don’t think sexual stuff is illogical or anything?”   
  
“To deem a biological function illogical is, in and of itself, illogical,” Spock said. “I am not embarrassed or ashamed of my natural need to relieve myself, or of my need to consume food. Sexual activity is biologically beneficial and perhaps even necessary.”   
  
“That’s a no, then. Gotcha.” It would be a lot easier to do whatever with Spock if he didn’t think that what they were doing was stupid or, gods forbid, _wrong_ (what? Jim didn’t know jackshit about Vulcan religious beliefs). “So, I, uh, I haven’t ever actually had sex. I’ve made out and stuff, so I’m not stupid about it or anything.”   
  
“I did not expect that you would be ‘stupid about it’, as you term sexual inexperience,” Spock said. His eyebrow went back up, and Jim couldn’t help watching it. The eyebrow was pretty hot, after all. “I am, in technical Terran terms, a virgin.”   
  
“Sure.” At this rate, they’d spend all afternoon _talking_ and no time at all _doing_ , which was sufficiently weird to make Jim take action. “So at the risk of sounding creepy, can I kiss you?”   
  
Spock answered his question by leaning over and, before Jim knew what was happening, pressing their lips together. Jim’s eyes shot open, then closed; that mouth was amazingly hot and even _more_ of a turn-on than he ever would have fantasized…even though it was closed.   
  
“Mm,” he ventured, and took the opportunity to trace Spock’s lips with his tongue. Much to his surprise (because he wouldn’t have expected _that_ reaction from a Vulcan, holy _shit_ ), not only did Spock open his mouth, but he also touched Jim’s tongue with his.   
  
Jim let out a squeak as his erection grew to full strength again. “S-Spock,” he whispered, pulling away slightly to whisper against Spock’s lips. “What do you want?”   
  
“I w-wish to see your body,” Spock whispered back, and that hitch in his voice, combined with his words themselves, threatened to set Jim on fire. “Remove your clothing.”   
  
“ _Fuck_ , yeah.” Spock wanted to see him naked…awesome. Jim pulled away and skimmed out of his sweaty T-shirt, then kicked off his sandals and shorts. “Like it?”   
  
Spock’s eyes were wider than Jim had ever seen them (although, to be fair, he’d known the guy like an hour – and he needed to stop thinking before the boner died again). “Remove your undergarments,” he said.   
  
“ _Nnnf_ ,” Jim managed. That was one fucking sexy tone of voice. He took his boxers off and kicked them onto the floor. “Okay?”   
  
He didn’t even get to see Spock’s face before he was pushed back on the bed with an extremely eager Vulcan dude on top of him, trying to eat his face. Spock was all _kinds_ of hot, Jim decided, and this proved it, even if those kisses had too many teeth in them.   
  
Spock obviously thought Jim was all kinds of hot, too; the hardness that pushed against Jim’s thigh through Spock’s pants was pretty loud about it. “Pants _off_ ,” Jim said, trying for the same commanding tone but probably failing pretty miserably. He pushed against Spock and rubbed his nipples against the _perfectly_ rough fabric of the button-down. “Can’t…”   
  
There was a noise in response, although Jim couldn’t really tell whether it was from him or Spock, and then Spock’s pants were bunched around his ankles and his dick was rubbing against Jim’s, and it was _so hot_ , and…Jim was running out of ands. This felt too fucking good.   
  
Jim wrapped his arms around Spock’s back, all the better to hold him closer and rub his nipples even harder against that shirt. Spock’s muscles flexed hard under his shirt, and Jim’s eyes rolled back in his head when that flexing translated to another thrust against his hips.   
  
“S-Spock,” he gasped, and thrust up in return – or would have, if Spock hadn’t kept him pressed pretty flat on the bed. Spock seemed to get what he was going for, though, because he rubbed their dicks together in a wriggling motion that almost made Jim black out. He could feel pre-come beading on someone’s dick, maybe Spock’s and maybe his, or it could’ve been both – oh, _god_ , that meant Spock was _really_ turned on.   
  
Grunts filled the air, and Jim was kind of busy whimpering, so he could _definitely_ tell that Spock was making noises now. He was turned on, and that meant he’d lost control, and…yeah, he couldn’t last. Jim’s back arched against the mattress, straining feet digging into it, as his climax slammed into him or soared or something that felt _really fucking good_. “Ohgod,” he groaned. “Shitfucking _god_ …” Blood and his own voice were roaring in his ears so hard that he barely heard Spock shout something in a language he didn’t understand, but he _definitely_ felt the hot wetness on his crotch when Spock came, too.   
  
Yeah, he blacked out then, or something close to it.   
  
Spock was still sprawled on top of him when Jim’s eyes opened again, except now Spock’s top half was propped up on his elbows and he was looking into Jim’s eyes. “Are you well?” he asked.   
  
“Yeah,” Jim mumbled, his mouth dry. “Wa’zat okay?”   
  
“The experience was quite pleasurable,” Spock said. It might have been Jim’s imagination, but it almost looked like Spock was _smiling_ , which wasn’t surprising after what they’d just done.   
  
“Nnfuck.” Jim’s head flopped a little further into the pillow. “We didn’ do anything illegal, right?” Who knew what kinds of laws Vulcans had regarding minors and sex?   
  
“We did not. You and I are both of sound mind and body, and consented to the activities.” That eyebrow went up again; even though he’d _just_ come, Jim’s dick made a concerted effort to greet it. “How old are you?”   
  
“Fifteen. Sixteen in January, but I’m a junior. You?” What if he’d just fucked an _adult?_ Did Vulcans count their ages differently or something?”   
  
To his relief, Spock’s answer wasn’t far off his own. “I am seventeen standard years old. No problem exists to hinder our sexual congress.” Jesus, Spock’s voice was sexy, especially when he was talking about _sexual congress._ “I am a senior.”   
  
Well, Jim was taking senior-level calculus, so maybe they’d be in some of the same classes after all. He couldn’t wait to tell Nyota that she was right – about some things, anyway. This was _one_ set of details he wouldn’t divulge completely. “Hey, Spock?” He shifted, making a face when their combined come made a sticky squelching noise. “We’re all gross.”   
  
“You may utilize my shower facilities,” Spock said, and sat up. “Would you allow me to join you? It is logical to use as many hands as possible in cleaning activities.”   
  
He and Spock had just frotted, and now Spock wanted to _shower_ with him. Jim would never think of Vulcans the same way again. “Yeah,” he said with a grin, and sat up himself, ignoring the stickiness this time. Spock’s eyes glanced down his chest. “Hey, Spock?”   
  
“Yes, Jim?”   
  
Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching soreness out of his leg muscles. “We gonna be sparring partners on Monday?”   
  
“Indeed.” Jim _definitely_ felt Spock’s eyes on _his_ ass this time. “I believe that our skills will be a formidable asset to the team.”   
  
“Formidable?” Jim’s grin came back, even wider this time. That was a good word to describe what they had.   
  
Formidable.   
  
What a team they would make.


End file.
